My coffee was cold.
The coffee I watched drip by for what felt like hours.
Wasting time on hot coffee that'll just be left out for the cold anyway.
I loved the steam.
Seeping down into my lungs.
Brushing gently down my throat.
Filling my insides with sweet ecstasy.
Almost burning.
Almost painful.
Almost.
Almost completely suffocating.
The crisp edges of books.
Spread across the room like a fallen army in the war of my mourning and sorrow.
In the bitter ignorance of my charred heart.
Not even able to apologize.
Sweeping down into the abyss of this lonely one bedroom apartment.
With only the ticking of the clock.
Who has clocks anymore?
To many bad memories.
To many reminders of bad times.
Times that are bad.
Times that were bad.
Times wasting.
Time wasted.
Even all of these winter blankets.
White and paisley golden sheets.
Lit curtains.
Gentle pillows.
Couldn't keep me warm.
The insides were cold.
Like a child lost in the park on a dark brisk winter night.
Not cold because of the snow hovering above his knees.
But because of the lost empty kiss from his warmhearted mother.
Buried beneath blankets of ice.
Empty chest.
Swollen *******.
The feeling of something or someone missing.
The tocks missing from the ticks.
The melody missing from the song.
The sugar missing from the tea.
The sunlight missing from the sun.
The tears missing from my weeping.
Balling up.
Knees to chest.
The doors unlocked.
The windows left open.
Pulling me under deeper and deeper into my sheets.
The oven burning what's left over of our last meal.
The parts that didn't end up on the ceiling and throughout the floor.
Spreading hard suffocating stench into the vents.
Let me burn.
Where's my company?

In the flames.